


Sicarius

by shopfront



Category: Old Kingdom - Garth Nix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-18
Updated: 2007-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 08:25:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1641383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shopfront/pseuds/shopfront
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were brothers once, before their names were changed. Before Kerrigor had an honour guard of the dead, and Touchstone was magicked into a wooden figurehead. They used to stand side by side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sicarius

**Author's Note:**

> I have to extend huge thank you's to Elle and Amanda for offering to beta right up to the last minute if need be, and coming through on short notice in the end. A girl couldn't have greater betas to hold her hand.
> 
> Written for eclecticmum

 

 

Torrigan's earliest memory was of sitting in an empty antechamber with his mother, while she toyed with his hair and whispered sweet reassurances to him, and played games with his chubby little hands and his wooden toy horse. He still has that horse, its battered edges wrapped carefully in soft cloth and hidden at the end of a drawer where Rogir won't be able to see it and laugh. Sometimes though, when he's sure Rogir isn't going to come bursting through his door without warning, he takes it out and rolls it over between his fingers, and remembers small hands and smiles and being held. He's not sure, but when he remembers how he felt that day, the crying and the tears and the loneliness, he thinks it might have been a goodbye of a sorts. His mother leaving him behind, and the grief that he didn't understand for the father he'd never met, and taking back her royal duties as was proper. He remembers seeing the maid and his big brother through his sniffles. They were waiting for him at the door after she had gone, come to replace her in his affections.

After that, all he remembers is Rogir at his side, and his mother towering above him on thrones and dining chairs and battlements. They played together every day through Torrigan's childhood, throwing mud and making a game out of sneaking away from their guard, once they were old enough to warrant one instead of a maid. They made up nicknames for each other, and their own secret codes and seals. It was always Rogir who talked him into sneaking up behind a soldier of the Royal Guard and goosing them; Rogir who convinced him to sneak into their sisters rooms and steal their bedcovers, their favourite clothes or a treasured toy. He never really wanted to at the first suggestion of each antic, but it was Rogir, and he knew his brother would never get him into serious trouble. After all, it was Rogir who had always been by his side, and in the end it was always as fun as Rogir had claimed it would be.

As they grew older still, Rogir's pranks became increasingly devious and complicated, often incorporating a tang of magic that made Torrigan nervous. But he still followed along enough to stay in Rogir's good books, at least until he was old enough to no longer be considered a child. Rogir was taken from him then, off to learn and to see and to practise how to be a King, while Torrigan was left alone again to find something worthwhile to do with his life. Whenever they could each escape their duties, however, Torrigan knew he could always rely on Rogir being at his side. Always, just like he'd promised when Torrigan had been so little and still smarting from the loss of his mother's constant company. These days he only audienced with their mother in the company of all three of his siblings, and if she lingered on the eyes and cheeks and shoulders that reminded her of her last love, and her eye softened more towards him than her other children, they all pretended not to notice.

The day that Torrigan realised for certain that it was truly a pretence was the day that one of their sisters, still looking for petty revenge after one of Rogir's more malicious pranks, intruded on one of their few remaining times together. Tired from an afternoon's hawking, they were stretched out in the park surrounding the palace, enjoying the last of the day's sun and reminiscing about their old game of giving each other countless nicknames. Rogir was waxing poetic about his favourite result, _Rogirek_ , when she emerged from one of the caves and dropped a small handful of splintered wood on the ground at his side.

_You ought to call yourself Touchstone after that jester you both liked so much last night, always going along with Rogir and falling into his traps with no thought for anyone else. You're more a fool than he was, Torrigan._

Even though their mother was the true source of the resentment, after that it was clear that choosing one of them over her had made little difference. Rogir had just laughed at the rant and told Torrigan not to let such silly girls get him down, and so Torrigan had put on a calm face, pretending that the unusually harsh words from family hadn't stung. Later on, when they'd each returned to their rooms to dress for dinner and Torrigan found an empty cloth at the end of his drawer, he knew the sting was even greater than he'd first realised.

Dinner was hard after that, trying to avoid the smirks and the knowing looks, but Rogir was always at his side like usual. Slightly oblivious, perhaps, that tonight of all nights his brother was glad he had joined them, instead eating in his room over some royal princely project or other, but there nonetheless. Rogir was boundlessly happy that evening, preparing for a summer devoted almost solely to his own projects, with only light royal duties on the side. Torrigan's miserable mood was still further compounded by the knowledge that his brother's happiness was centred on him leaving Belisaere a week hence, possibly to return in the winter but not likely.

Torrigan had already been forbidden to accompany him, being far younger than Rogir and still considered too young for one of royal blood to leave the palace, or even the city, without the company of his entire family. No, the only ones accompanying Rogir on his travels would be a small section of the Royal Guard. Torrigan would no longer be at his side, and Rogir would no longer be at his. At least not for the moment. Watching Rogir stride out the gates of the palace with guards by his side, the road lined with celebrating well wishers, Torrigan knows what he has to do. The next day he proposes to train with the Royal Guard, to become a proficient soldier who can protect his family. A fitting life for a son who is of royal blood but is not a prince. A life that would put Torrigan back at Rogir's side when he becomes King.

When winter rolls around, Torrigan can't help but be glad that he had long decided on a path that would take him back to his brother. The next winter, and the next winter again, Torrigan trains longer and pushes harder, determined to be high in the ranks of the guards before his brother finally makes his way home. When Rogir finally appears at their dinner table again, dusty and ragged from travel, with a wide grin on his face and a laugh when his sisters and mother complain about him entering the dining hall in such a state, Torrigan feels something release inside him that he didn't know was wound so tight.

Their days are lighthearted after that, the sun is bright and the gardens colourful and Torrigan has already worked his way high enough within the Royal Guard that he can put much of his training aside in favour of 'guarding' his family. They play and laugh all day, and there aren't any pranks to break the happy truce Torrigan gained with his sisters during Rogir's absence. Things are so happy and peaceful that Torrigan doesn't think twice when Rogir appears one afternoon, an unusually serious expression on his face, to beg their mother to check on the Charter Stones that fateful day. His brother is by his side again and Torrigan backs Rogir, adding his more influential words to the argument though he feels no disruption in the Charter either.

The devastation Torrigan feels at the breaking of the stones, the despair as three sets of eyes go dim, leaves him gasping. His brother is before him, no longer beside him, with dagger in hand. The foul tang of free magic is in the air, and he is suddenly sickened as a remembered childhood nervousness creeps back. Even in the darkness of the reservoir Torrigan can see the familiar glint in Rogir's eye that had always preceded the worst of their pranks. He sees Rogir's mouth moving, but all he hears is his grief and loss roaring in his ears as he watches their mother fall at his feet.

Touchstone will never tell that Rogir asked him to join him, to stand side by side as brothers like they always had, and that before Torrigan lost control, before the roaring overcame his senses... he was tempted.

 


End file.
